


Everything You Dreamed It Could Be

by NervousAsexual



Category: The Big Valley
Genre: Embarrassment, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Major Illness, Making Out, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Terminal Illnesses, Yuletide Treat, but if not let me know because i might be convinced to write another lol, i hope this is what you wanted requester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: Heath never had trouble making up his mind about most things, but Jarrod always was unique. It took him a long time to lay all his cards on the table.
Relationships: Heath Barkley/Jarrod Barkley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Everything You Dreamed It Could Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saklani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saklani/gifts).



Heath never had much trouble making up his mind about things. That just wasn't his way. He just didn't see the point in getting yourself all tore up over something like that. So when he was unsure of something, nine times of ten he flipped a coin. Heads he put money on the sorrel, tails on the black mare with the patch. Heads he spent his evening off in town, drinking up the cheap stuff, tails he stayed to home and listened to the crickets.

There was only one decision he wouldn't put down to the coin. He didn't put it down to anything. That one he just didn't worry about. He could always put it off. There was always another day.

The first time he saw Jarrod Barkley, standing out there on that front porch with his crooked smile and his big eyes so blue they might as well have been silver he wondered, and he kept right on wondering as he spent more time around the family--his family. How did Jarrod fit into all of this? It didn't seem like he should. It was like those picture puzzles Audra did sometimes. You had a piece and you looked at it and you told yourself there wasn't no way that piece was going to fit, the shape and the color was all wrong, and then you tried just for the hell of it and it slipped right in and made a picture you never would have imagined was possible.

He had no way of knowing for sure, but in his experience like knew like. Jarrod could have married, if he really wanted to. He could have gone to Frisco and lived a life of his own, if he really wanted to.

Heath wanted more than anything to touch him. A hand on the arm, the shoulder, anything. Somehow it was always Nick or Eugene he ended up touching, generally in the form of a punch given or received. But it didn't matter. There was always tomorrow. He had every tomorrow in his life to admit to Jarrod that no matter who they were to each other he wanted to be more.

But he was running out of tomorrows.

It started with a limp. Jarrod complained one day that he was stiff. Nick told him it was all that desk work, he needed to go out on a drive. They went back and forth like that for a while and finished up laughing. But it got worse. He walked slower. He lost weight. He was exhausted all the time. At Victoria's urging he went to the city to have a doctor's opinion. When he came back he went to his bed and laid there for hours. Riding made his body ache, he said. He slept for hours and in the morning finally told Victoria, and only Victoria, what he had learned. Victoria relayed the information to the others. The cancer was eating him from the inside out and there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it.

Heath didn't know much about medicine but he suspected that to be a lie. People--scientists--were working every day to try and cure cancer. He tried to be sympathetic, though. Jarrod didn't want his last months or weeks or days to be spent sick as a dog from experimental treatments that came with no guarantee. He wanted to stay in his own home and die as easily as he could manage. Heath could understand that. He didn't agree, but then he wasn't the one who was ill.

In December Victoria wanted to cancel the annual Christmas party. Her heart wasn't in it, she said, and she was afraid it would be too disruptive for Jarrod to bear. But he insisted. He would stay in his room, he said. Perhaps if he felt strong enough he would come downstairs and mingle for a bit. But under no circumstances would he allow what was happening to him to ruin the holidays, and if Victoria didn't have her party he would throw one himself. He'd enlist Silas' help, and Audra's, and he was sure his brothers could be relied on to help cause mischief. He smiled at Heath as he said it. Heath smiled back but felt something pulling inside his chest.

December twenty-third at exactly four-thirty the earliest guests arrived, just as they had last year and the year before that. Heath watched them at a distance. Most of the guests were from town, and though a few were hands come up to the big house for the evening there was no one there that Heath felt like talking to. He stayed as long as he thought was appropriate--through dinner but not dessert--and volunteered to take the tray Silas had prepared for Jarrod.

"He's lucky to have a brother like you," Victoria told him, smiling her soft, loving smile, and he felt a pang of disgust with himself. It wasn't enough for him to want men. The man he wanted, as Victoria had so simply put, was his brother. He needed to get a grip on himself and move on.

When he knocked on Jarrod's bedroom door he was answered with a soft call, "It's open." Heath braced the tray against his hip and let himself in.

Jarrod was seated by the fire, a book lying open in his lap. He glanced up and said, "Is that for me?"

"Who else would it be for?"

"You can leave it on the dressing table." Jarrod nodded over to the corner of the room. "I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite at the moment."

Heath did as instructed and started for the door, but he wasn't sure he could face going downstairs again. "You mind if I sit up here with you for a while?"

Jarrod shook his head.

"You sure? If you're not up for company..."

"I'm not, but you aren't company, Heath."

The way he said it was so gentle and simple that it made Heath's chest ache. He took a seat on the trunk at the foot of Jarrod's bed. Downstairs someone had started a carol that he didn't recognize, and the fire crackled away in the bedroom. Jarrod didn't speak. He went back to his book. There was something oddly peaceful about it all.

_Kiss him,_ the voice inside him whispered.

Heath rubbed at his brow.

_Kiss him. You may not have another chance._

He pulled at the bolo tie Nick and Eugene had convinced him to wear.

_Kiss him. You know you want to kiss him._

He did. God, did he ever. But he didn't want to risk what they already had. He looked at Jarrod intently, looking for any clue to tell him which way to go, but got nothing. Jarrod kept reading. He looked tired but not exhausted.

If he waited too long he'd never know.

Maybe he wanted that, he told himself. But he stood anyway and the room tilted around him.

"Ready to go back down?" Jarrod didn't look up from his book. "Thank Silas for me."

He came to crouch at Jarrod's feet. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do.

"Heath?" Now Jarrod looked up, quizzical eyes searching Heath's face.

It was as if the world itself stopped turning for a moment. He reached up and put a hand to Jarrod's neck, running a calloused thumb over his cheek. He was warm from the fire and his skin was strangely soft. Heath leaned closer, moving slowly to give him time to pull back, but Jarrod didn't. He just looked back with those eyes that Heath adored.

Heath closed his own and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth.

There was no going back now.

As he pulled back he saw that Jarrod's eyes had closed as well.

"I..." Jarrod said softly.

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake." Heath scrambled back from the chair. "I thought... I should go."

"Heath?"

He looked back. Jarrod's eyes had opened a little.

"Please. Stay."

Every muscle in his body was ready to run right out that door and never come back, but where was he going to go? Downstairs to socialize, knowing that he'd just ruined everything? To his room to do what he always did when he was uncontrollably worked up? He lowered himself stiffly onto the trunk.

For a few moments Jarrod sat silently, fingers pressed against his lips, before he finally looked up. "Heath, are you... Do you..."

"Yes." The word was so soft he could barely hear himself. "I am. I do. But I... Can we forget this ever happened? I'll keep my distance from here on out. I won't even talk to you if you don't want me to."

"Don't you dare."

Their eyes met. To Heath's surprise it was Jarrod who looked away first.

"I am, too." He braced his elbows against the arms of the chair and went back to looking at the floor. "But I guess you knew that."

"I didn't." Heath picked at the fringe of the afghan on the bed. "I thought you might be. But I didn't know."

For a long moment neither of them spoke.

"I'm sorry. Even if you are... like that... we're brothers. It was a stupid thing to do."

"No. No." Jarrod sighed deeply. "Or yes, I suppose, but maybe we're both stupid. I don't want you to stop."

Heath looked up sharply. There was nothing in Jarrod's face to suggest he was afraid or humiliated or angry.

"Unless you want to stop."

"I don't," he admitted.

Jarrod set aside his book and climbed stiffly to his feet, waving away Heath's frightened attempts to help. He limped over to sit on the end of the bed. Heath turned to see him better and his thigh bumped against Jarrod's knees.

"I'll be ready for you this time," Jarrod said with a smile.

Heath moved in a little quicker this time. He pressed his lips to the other corner of Jarrod's mouth, but to his surprise Jarrod turned so that his mouth caught Heath's. He let Jarrod take the lead; the truth was that while he had experience with men the only experience he'd had with kissing another was a handful of frantic, sloppy kisses in prelude to more pressing acts. But Jarrod kissed him slowly, gently, one hand on Heath's upper thigh and the other coming up to hover just beside his shoulder. Heath brought his right hand up to meet it. He folded their fingers together and then gently lifted them to his face so when they broke for air, air that came to him more easily, he only had to turn his head to press a series of small, slow kisses down the side of Jarrod's thumb.

"Heath," Jarrod panted, then gave a soft fluttering gasp as Heath bent to brush his lips down his neck. He chased him until their foreheads bumped against each other and then they rested for a moment.

"Are you alright?" Heath asked softly.

"Oh, very much so. Just need a moment to..." Jarrod closed his eyes and dragged in a deep breath. "You?"

Heath nodded. Jarrod's head moved with his. "I've been picturing this for a long time," he admitted.

"Hope it's everything you dreamed it would be."

"Very much so," he echoed. "How far do you...?"

Jarrod brought their entwined hands up to trail down Heath's face. "Far as you want to take me."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll tell you if you do." Their eyes met again. "Trust me?"

With his life, and probably more than that.

"Would you mind getting the door? I'd do it myself, but..."

"No. Stay." It was so much easier for Heath to stand, walk to the door, lock it, and walk back than it was for Jarrod to even move himself back onto the bed. "Jarrod, are you sure you want this?" He could think of far more reasons not to do this--their shared father, Jarrod's advancing illness, the fact that in the rooms below half of the town was milling around--than to do it. The one reason for--that he desperately, desperately wanted to do it--could never outweigh the rest of it.

"Yes." Jarrod laid a hand on the afghan beside him. "I'm not that far gone, Heath."

"Not what I meant."

"Then what is it you're asking?"

"I'm asking... I... Look, if there's a hell I've been heading that way for a long time. It's bad enough to want a man like this, but I've wanted you. My own brother." He sat down on the afghan, keeping some distance at least between them. Jarrod watched him silently. "I don't want to drag you down with me."

Jarrod pulled back his hand.

"I'm sure I'm not the one you want."

With a sigh Jarrod let his head sink forward. "There isn't a 'one,' Heath. Just a 'what.'" Heath couldn't speak. "It's been a long time, and let's be honest. I don't have much of that left. At least once more before the end I want someone to touch me." He raised his eyes enough to look into Heath's, a soft smile warming his face. "And if that someone is the rugged, handsome type, someone I trust completely and love with all my heart, what more could I possibly want?"

Heath traced the patterns in the worn rug beside the bed. He almost wanted a coin to flip, but there was one thing he couldn't let slide.

"You think I'm handsome?" he asked, an embarrassed smile creeping onto his face.

Jarrod laughed. "Have you seen yourself, Heath?"

Heath was sure he was pink to the tips of his ears. "Not real recently, no."

"Well, trust me on that one, too." Jarrod winced and rubbed at his lower back.

"You probably ought to lie down," Heath told him, suddenly, painfully aware of how much his brother must hurt.

"You're probably right." Jarrod shifted back on the afghan, and in the light of the fire he was alarmingly pale. Heath put an arm around his shoulders and helped him lie back. "Ah... thank you, Heath." He held out a thin trembling hand and Heath took it in his own. "For everything."

Heath pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed and helped him slide over to it. He tucked the afghan around him. "I should let you rest."

"Please stay." Jarrod patted the bed beside him. "Please."

How could he argue with that? Heath shed his jacket and tossed the tie onto it before slipping under the covers. When Jarrod moved closer he felt the first tears prick at his eyes. "You're freezing."

"Warm me up?"

"Anything you want."

Jarrod closed his eyes and nudged Heath's head back enough to kiss him, and Heath kissed him back. Jarrod's mouth was dry and sour but he was so gentle that it seemed unimportant. Jarrod slid a hand up over his side--Heath shivered--and gently rubbed up and down his back.

That alone sent a hundred different feelings to every nerve in Heath's body. It was so simple and so intimate and he pulled Jarrod into his arms and when they broke to let Jarrod catch his breath he trailed kisses across his face.

"Sorry." Jarrod was panting. "We're going to have to go slow."

"Good," Heath breathed into his ear, and Jarrod shivered beneath him.

The only light came from the fire and the small lamp that burned beside Jarrod's table and so it took time to shed their clothes. Jarrod's fingers, trembling and ice-cold, struggled with the buttons on Heath's shirt, and when Heath managed to return the favor, helping Jarrod down to his undershirt, a stray touch in a certain place brought a sharp wince from his throat. Heath took a closer look and with a sinking heart realized exactly how much of Jarrod's chest and arms were heavily bruised.

"Not sure where they come from." Jarrod closed the distance between them, his undershirt the only thing between his chest and Heath's.

"Like you said. We'll take it slow." He wanted to kiss every bruise and take away the pain but it was such a foolish thing to want and it made his chest ache.

Jarrod smiled at him. Without a word he kissed Heath's jaw, then his throat, down his collarbone. Heath held him tighter and Jarrod laid his cheek against his chest. His breath was warm. The rest of him was chilled, but his breath was warm. He sighed as Heath stroked his bare shoulder with the pad of his thumb.

The room was quiet, and if he could only forget what was happening to Jarrod Heath would have been indescribably happy. As it was he kept dwelling on all the wasted time he'd spent denying how he felt. It made the whole experience slightly bittersweet.

After a moment's rest Jarrod stirred again, this time stroking his hand down Heath's side, smoothly and easily, and though his hand was still so cold it felt good.

"How far?" Jarrod asked him softly.

Heath took both of Jarrod's hands in his, rubbing some warmth into them before gently kissing the back of each finger. "Far as you want to take me."

Jarrod gave a small, gentle chuckle. "Probably better if you lead. You know what you want, and I don't care as long as you touch me."

"Oh, I'll do more than touch you," Heath said. He slid his hands to Jarrod's upper arms, gently holding him back as he kissed the most tender spots he could think of--the hollows of each eye, the curve of his jaw, the skin just below and behind his ears. He trailed his tongue down Jarrod's throat and smiled to himself when a gentle nip at the junction of neck and shoulder drew a gasp. "Is that the spot there?" He eased Jarrod down onto his back and pressed a kiss to that spot. Jarrod writhed, but in a way he wasn't expecting. He kissed the spot again and got the same response. "Are you ticklish?"

Jarrod laughed. He sounded tired, slightly out of breath, but not hurt. "Please don't."

"Alright. Tell me where." When he got no immediate response he shifted up and placed a brief kiss to Jarrod's lips. "Or tell me nowhere."

Instead of answering Jarrod slid his fingertips over Heath's belly and this time Heath writhed. His eyes were still on Heath's as he struggled with the clasps on his trousers. Heath sat back and undid them himself before running his fingers along the edge of Jarrod's waistband. All he had to do was loosen the belt and it was impossibly easy to help him undress.

"Enjoying yourself?" Jarrod asked, nodding at the way Heath was beginning to fill out his underclothes.

"Yeah." He rubbed along Jarrod's hip. Like every other part of his body it was marked here and there with bruises. "But you're not."

Jarrod flushed and closed his eyes. "It's not that."

Heath said nothing. He'd seen how soft Jarrod had been.

"I'm being honest with you. I'm... There's parts of me that don't work right anymore. You understand?"

He didn't. "If this hurts you..."

"It doesn't." Jarrod pushed himself back and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I've been like this for a while. It's been hard to..." He chuckled, but it was a strained, unhappy sound. "No pun intended. Ah, how do I put this... I'm not... fully a man anymore." He curled in on himself, out of fear or pain or shame, Heath couldn't tell which.

What was that supposed to mean?

"Damn it, Heath, don't make me spell it out for you."

"Guess I'm slow on the uptake. I don't know what you're trying to say."

When Jarrod raised his eyes to Heath's they were shining with tears. "There's things that I used to be able to do, things that men are supposed to be able to do, that I can't anymore."

For a moment he was irritated--why couldn't Jarrod just tell him instead of skirting the question?--and then his own cock began to soften and he realized. "You can't get an erection."

"Not easily. Not for very long. No pun... Since this all started I haven't been able to, ah, finish, the way men usually finish."

Heath brushed aside the tears that spilled down Jarrod's cheek. Jarrod was trying, but Heath got the idea that however loving Tom Barkley's household had been sex and the things that went with it were applied only to livestock. Discussing such things so frankly and about himself was difficult. "I wish you'd told me."

Jarrod's face tightened and a new rush of tears escaped him. He lifted one shaking hand to Heath's cheek. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not what anyone would want. But it's... it's humiliating enough being this broken without saying it all out loud."

"You're not broken, Jarrod. You're sick, maybe, and you're hurt, and you're tired, but that don't make you broken." Tears were starting to prickle at the backs of his own eyes. "And it definitely don't make me want you any less."

"There's still things I can do," Jarrod interrupted, wiping his tears away with his free hand. "Let me..." He reached down to stroke his fingers over Heath's underclothes and Heath's cock twitched. "I want you to enjoy this."

"And I want you to do the same." He felt dizzy; too much smoke from the fire, maybe. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't treat me like a china doll, Heath. Let me help _you_ enjoy it."

It was difficult to believe that his enjoyment of anything would help anything else. "What can I do that would feel good for you?"

Jarrod slipped his fingers into the waist of Heath's underclothes. "Anything you'd do for any other man. I can still feel you, even if I can't respond the way I should."

Heath held him by the hips and stroked the skin that was drawn so tightly over bone. "This?"

Jarrod nodded. He pulled at Heath's clothes.

He slid one hand up, over the hipbone, down his belly. "This?" A shudder ran through him. Heath knew that he was self-conscious about this--there was a reason Jarrod hadn't removed his undershirt. "It's alright, you know."

"W-what?"

"That you're not..." He tried to think how to put it. "...hard like Nick and I are hard. I've heard them tease you about it, Victoria and Nick and Audra. They don't mean anything by it."

"I know. It doesn't matter."

"It does, Jarrod. First time I saw you I knew you were different. Nick's all hard edges. I could tell just by looking at him that he was going to fight like hell to make sure I stayed out of the family. But you looked like you would give me a chance."

Jarrod chuckled. The way his abdomen rose and fell when he laughed felt strange under Heath's hands. "I usually leave the intimidating to Nick. I'm not much of a threat 'til you get me in the courtroom."

"And I love you for that." He didn't dare turn his eyes from Jarrod's. It was too important that he knew this much. "Not despite it. Because of it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jarrod asked softly.

"Because..." He wanted to say it was because he thought Jarrod needed it but couldn't bring himself to lie. "Because I wanted to say that to you before you... before the end. If I didn't and you never got to hear it I'd regret it for the rest of my life."

Jarrod watched him quietly. His eyes were still damp with tears.

"I guess I worry sometimes. When I first came here I figured everyone would be... that I would be so different from the rest of you and that was all I'd ever be. Just some dirt-poor bastard pretending to be something he wasn't. But Nick, and Audra, a little, they're both like me. There's no one like you, Jarrod."

Jarrod gave him a small smile and wiped at his eyes. "Gene and I are more alike than you think. You'll see that when he's done with school--if he's ever done with school."

"Gene's a nice enough kid, but he's not you." He stroked his hand down to the edge of the undershirt and hesitated before touching the skin below.. "Do you mind if I..."

Jarrod nodded.

He was soft in a lot of ways. Heath watched his face twitch as he ran callused fingers over his pelvis. He pulled his hand over to Jarrod's alarmingly pronounced hipbone. "Sorry. Don't want to hurt you. Or... or tickle you, if that's what I'm doing."

Without a word Jarrod reached up and took Heath's face in both hands and kissed him, longer and deeper than Heath would've thought possible.

When they finally broke away Jarrod was panting and Heath was seeing stars. "That was... that was something else."

"Something good, I hope."

He grinned and shook his head. "That's one way of putting it."

Jarrod's hands strayed down Heath's side as he tried to catch his breath. His fingertips strayed downward and traced along the outline of Heath's cock. "Hands?" he asked softly. "Or mouth?"

"What?" He shuddered as Jarrod started to pull him free of his underclothes.

"Hands or mouth." He stroked him gently, like he knew what he was doing. "You must have a preference."

The image crossed his mind of Jarrod taking him into his mouth, and he flushed--he'd be beautiful, he always was. But not like this. "You don't have to do that."

"I don't see how you're going to get much out of this any other way."

He hesitated for a moment before taking Jarrod in his hand.

Jarrod winced. "Heath..."

"Am I hurting you?"

"Just my pride."

Even if he was soft this part of his body, at least, was warm. "You got nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you want me to stop?"

"I just wish you'd said something before this, Heath. I was never... I don't know. I suppose I might've been more of what you were looking for back then."

"I guess I'm not explaining it good enough. You're exactly what I'm looking for."

Jarrod sighed. "Well, like I said. I hope it's everything you..." His breath hitched as Heath began to stroke him. "...dre-dreamed it would be."

He almost laughed. "Mostly I dreamed you'd be so disgusted with me you'd never want to see me again. Maybe send Nick to shoot me in the face."

"You think I'd do a thing like that?"

"I guess we both got our silly fears."

For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Jarrod touched him and he touched Jarrod, but there wasn't any kind of an end goal. It just felt good, and they didn't have any other reason.

Heath was trying hard not to get too wrapped up in his own body--he was hard as rock and already beginning to lose focus--but as Jarrod eased him free of the last layer of clothing he realized that he too had grown a little harder. When he stroked the tip of his finger down the entire length before taking him full in his hand to stroke up Jarrod jerked against him, his fingers tugging sharply at Heath, and over his own groan he heard Jarrod make a low sound deep in his chest. He couldn't even describe the sound but he wanted to hear it again and again. He lowered his head to kiss the spot on his shoulder before remembering.

"Dammit," he said as Jarrod gasped. "Sorry, wasn't thinking."

"Neither one of us is doing a lot of that." Jarrod lay back, his breath coming hard and fast and a little too short. "There's, ah... There's lard in a tin over in the nightstand. Just... don't ask too many questions."

What did lard have to do with... Oh. Damn. "You want me in you?"

"Isn't that what you want?"

He did, very, very much. "Have you ever gone that far before?"

Jarrod closed his eyes and shook his head.

"This isn't your first..."

"No. But you weren't interested in hands or mouth."

It wasn't like he hadn't thought of it during his months of wondering, but the idea of Jarrod with some man's cock down his throat made his hips jerk. "Wait. Wait." He reached for his discarded jacket and yanked the folded handkerchief from his pocket. Jarrod gave it a doubtful look. "It's silk. Got it from a, uh... an old friend. It will feel good, I promise."

"Go ahead. I trust you."

"Can you lay against me... yeah, like that." Jarrod lay on his side, still breathing heavily, and Heath moved closer until he could wrap the handkerchief around them both and hold both of them in his hand together.

"Oh, god," Jarrod said softly.

"Want me to stop?"

"Absolutely not."

Heath hooked his arm under Jarrod's neck, tracing the outline of his shoulder blades with one had as he began to stroke with the other. Jarrod shifted closer, holding onto Heath like he was the last solid thing in the world. Soft sounds, half grunt and half whimper, reverberated in his throat and he nudged Heath's head up to kiss him once again. There was a moment of resistance, both of them thrusting against the other but not together, and then Jarrod broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together, and he laid a hand on Heath's cheek and he was so gentle that it all seemed to click into place. They were moving as one. Heath bit back a whimper of his own and stroked harder, harder...

"God, Heath," Jarrod moaned. Both hands clutched at Heath's back now and the sound of his name on his lips was enough to push Heath over the edge. He came as hard as he'd ever done in his life.

His hand slowed automatically but in his pleasure-fogged mind he knew that Jarrod still hadn't come. He tried to pick up the pace but he could only handle so much, he would have to...

"Slower," Jarrod whispered in his ear.

"You haven't..."

"I can't. Just, just help me..."

So he slowed. He stroked more gently, slower, until Jarrod shuddered and pressed his face to Heath's shoulder. His entire body was shaking.

"I'm sorry," Heath said.

But at the same time Jarrod said, "Thank you." There were tears in his voice.

They parted slowly. Heath tried to focus on extracting the handkerchief without making a mess of the bed. Jarrod lay back again, his breathing still too fast and too hard and too short.

"That was..." he started to say, panting so hard he could barely breathe. "S-something else."

Heath set the handkerchief on the nightstand and pulled Jarrod into his arms. "I wish I could've taken you farther."

"Took me a lot farther..." Jarrod turned those big blue eyes to him. "...lot farther than I've been in a while."

For a minute they lay there together, struggling to catch their breath. Heath chuckled to himself.

"What?"

"You didn't think I'd get anything out of this."

Jarrod laughed too and ran a hand through Heath's hair. "Guess I was wrong."

He didn't look tired anymore. This time he did look exhausted. Heath brushed a thumb down his cheek. "Jarrod?"

Jarrod gave him a smile that was weary but happy. "Hm?"

"I love you."

He pressed their foreheads together. "I love you too, Heath."

* * *

As he closed the door behind him there were footsteps on the stairs and he looked up to see Victoria coming toward him. "Is everything alright, Heath?" she asked.

"Fine. Just keeping Jarrod company."

"We missed you." Her eyes moved from him to the door and back. "But there's not an abundance of holiday cheer this year. I can't blame you for bowing out. How's Jarrod?"

"Sleeping." Heath had stayed to help Jarrod change into his nightclothes and ended up holding him in his arms until he'd fallen into the heavy, worrying sleep that seemed to come for him more often than not these days. "Do you want..."

He opened the door again so that they could both see Jarrod's shape on the bed, chest rising and falling with every breath.

"No. Let him sleep." She smiled, but it faltered a little as he closed the door. "Did he eat anything?" Heath shook his head and she bit her lip. "I asked Silas to put some cake aside for him. Do you know that he's never missed this party before? Not once. Not even when he was away at school."

He shook his head--he hadn't known but it didn't surprise him. "He would've been there if he could."

"I know." She patted his cheek. "I'm glad he didn't spend the evening alone. He's lucky to have a friend like you."

It wasn't until she'd turned and was headed back downstairs that he realized what she had said. "Friend" instead of "brother." He wasn't sure how much to read into that.

"Heath?" She paused halfway down the stairs.

"Yeah?"

"Is he... was it a bad night?"

A whole herd of responses run rampant in his head. He closed his eyes and flipped a mental coin.

"No," he said at last. "I think it was a very good night."


End file.
